Impulse
by Hikaru Morinaga
Summary: The need to do something, the instinctual urge to take action. The force that drives Schuldig to leave and the force he ignores when it's time to come home. Three parter. First chapter revised.
1. Chapter 1

**Impulse**

I had the urge to leave. I didn't know where it came from but I _had_ to. This happened every now and then, the urge to just do something spontaneous. It pissed Crawford off to no end because you can't _see_ spontaneity. Well tough shit for him. I grabbed my jacket, made sure I had my keys and my wallet in case I felt like having a night out on the town, and left. It was cold out, go figure—I didn't have a winter jacket. It didn't bother me though. Not much bothered me really. Nothing bothered me because I just didn't care.

I walked with no sense of direction whatsoever. I'd probably end up getting lost, and I didn't really care if I did. In this area of Berlin, there were always pubs I could ask for directions. Too bad I didn't know the name of the place we were staying at. I could just hear Crawford in my head, going, "Some bodyguard you are if you aren't aware of your surroundings all the time." Too bad I'm too busy trying to keep everyone's voices from drowning mine out in my head to notice where the hell we were staying.

I walked on, lost in my thoughts, and the thoughts of others, ones where the owners expressed how bored they were of their job, or how sick they were of their significant other, or how they just wanted to hit up all the pubs in Berlin, get as drunk as possible, and crawl back home. One lamented how the streets were lonely at night in this area, the 'undesirable' section. They complained of bitch ex-girlfriends, of bosses and mothers-in-law who wouldn't stop nagging them to death.

I lit up a cigarette and took a long drag before burying my other hand in my jacket pocket. It felt like it was getting colder, but I didn't want to find my way back yet.

I wonder if Crawford notices I'm gone yet. What a stupid thing to hope, or wonder about, but I couldn't help but wonder.

**Author's notes:** Finally redid this thing because it was too short, for one thing, and for another it didn't seem like Schuldig to me. It sounds a lot better now, more like him. Thanks to editing this, I'm planning a second chapter as a follow up. This was a stream-of-conscious like thing, so Schuldig's kind of giving a running commentary on things. It suits him in this, I think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Impulse**

**-Two-**

**Author's notes:** Well, Heaven Star wanted a second chapter, but lamented on the fact that it was a one shot. Upon revising the first chapter, I decided to oblige and create a second chapter. So Heaven Star, this chapter is for you.

-x-

The first thing I heard upon entering the hotel room was, "You should have told me you were staying out all night."

Ah, so Crawford _did_ notice. Granted, it was almost seven in the morning. I hope he didn't wait up for me all night, but then again I wouldn't care in the first place and it didn't seem like something he'd do anyway. I threw my jacket onto the back of the couch in the sitting room—Crawford always requested the master suite. He liked extravagance. You could tell because he only buys the _best_—Armani suits, silk ties, Mercedes Benz cars, dry cleaning-only anything… The list went on and on. I wasn't one for extravagant bullshit.

"I figured you would've Seen it," I said with a shrug.

Crawford looked at me from the chair by the television, and for a second I thought he actually looked like he cared that I might've been missing or dead in a ditch somewhere. If he ever did look at me that way, I'd probably be nauseous beyond belief at his sap. Brad Crawford was not a sap. He was a cold, calculating bastard, just like I was. Except I liked to have fun.

"I saw you leaving, but I didn't see any indication you were returning," he said. "Schwarz is in a bad place right now—Farfarello is gone, I foresee Nagi is going to leave soon…"

"The team's falling to pieces, so you thought I left, just like that, without a word to anyone." I voiced the thoughts he didn't want to say out loud. He scowled at me for doing it. He hated it when I dared to enter the 'sanctity' of his mind. It wasn't my fault he had his guard down in the presence of a telepath. I scoffed. "I'm touched that you care."

He got up from his seat then and came closer, still leaving a sizeable gap between us. "You've left before."

"That was partially—no—_completely_ your fault." I leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Crawford took another two steps forward. "I can't make you leave—I _didn't_ make you leave."

"Really? Is that why, when you brought Nagi into Schwarz, you said he was to be your protégé because he wouldn't let you down like a certain other teammate did?"

Ooh, I hit a nerve. I loved it when I did that. I couldn't help but smirk when he oh-so-subtly narrowed his eyes.

"I never said that."

"Correction," I said, pushing away from the wall, taking a few more steps towards this Armani-wearing bastard, "you said the first part. That last part was in your thoughts. Whether you wanted it heard or not, I don't know, but I did all the same. And I figured you wouldn't notice or care if I left."

He stared at me, trying to guess where this situation was going. He didn't even have to guess, he could've just used his precognition to figure it out. Funny thing about the future is that actions and words aren't set in stone, and Crawford knew this fact well. Especially when it came to trying to predict the unpredictable like myself. I hated patterns. Patterns were boring.

"I was the one who found you after you ran away," he said at last.

"Oh, don't you feel special?" I said sarcastically. He took another step. We were almost close enough to touch—just a thin layer of tension and oxygen separated us.

"It wouldn't have happened if you didn't want to be found. You wanted me to find you."

I just shrugged. It wasn't worth remembering all the details.

"Whatever you say, Crawford." I turned to go, to leave for the bedroom Crawford said I could use, and just lay there for most of the day, staring at the ceiling. Sleep didn't come easily to telepaths, least of all me. One of my caliber. The reason I was so great was also the worst drawback ever, and that was the fact that I couldn't block thoughts out of my head when I slept. Most could, those lucky bastards.

"Don't make me wait up for you again, Schuldig," was all he managed to say before I shut the door.

-x-

A week after we moved into our new flat, Nagi left. Of course he didn't leave without saying anything to Crawford—it was him who took him away from the orphanage and trained him to be who he was today. In a way, Crawford was like a father to him. Crawford would be a horrible father, assassin trained bodyguard notwithstanding of course. He'd be horribly distant and care about nothing other than his work. Even my father was better than that, and he loved working more than his own wife. I guess Nagi didn't mind, or maybe he was different with Nagi than he was with Farfarello and I. Not that I cared. I didn't need anyone except myself.

The reason I knew Nagi was gone was because Crawford announced it at breakfast when I decided to sit down at the table.

"Nagi's gone," he said simply, without looking up from the front page of the newspaper, folded in half along the fold line for ease of reading.

"You seem disappointed," I said, pouring coffee into one of the mugs on the table. I took a sip and winced. Not strong enough. This wasn't how Crawford liked his coffee at all.

"Correction, you're slipping."

That earned a look away from whatever was so interesting on the front page and up at me.

"Slipping?" I couldn't fault him if the world was foreign to him. Crawford never slipped, was never distracted.

"This isn't how you make your coffee. Not even close. This is like what we got at that café in Tokyo, the one Takatori raved about."

"Oh," Crawford said absent-mindedly, and went back to the paper I realized he wasn't even reading. I blocked out all the other useless thoughts floating around in my head and singled in on one specific person's. Crawford really was slipping if I could single out his thoughts.

"Bet you weren't this upset when I left," I mused, grabbing our coffee mugs and the coffee pot, dumping the contents of each into the sink. I wasn't gonna drink this shit and I wasn't gonna let him drink it either.

"You never quit, do you?"

"Quit what?" There, seven cups in the coffee maker, just like Crawford made it every day for the past seven years, almost as long as I'd known him.

"Digging up the past."

"I'm not digging anything up, I'm just making a harmless comparison."

He turned around in his seat, his gaze pressing into my back.

"You want answers."

"Not really," I said, waiting for the last of the coffee to fill up the pot. "I know how much Nagi meant to you. He was your protégé after all. The only one who was like you." I chuckled at the last part. "It's only fitting to be upset—even for you, cold-hearted bastard you are."

"'Cold-hearted bastard' does not exempt me from being human, unfortunately," he answered.

I brought the coffee pot and mugs back over to the table and sat back down.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" I asked, pouring coffee into my mug. I took a sip—ah, non-shit tasting coffee. Crawford poured himself a mug and poured half-and-half in his, stirring it in in a seemingly mechanical way. This was what we did every morning—it was habit now, something we did without thinking.

"What is?" He was still stirring it and I watched, amused.

"The one you thought was so loyal left you without a doubt in his mind."

Crawford shrugged. Crawford never shrugged. Who was this man before me?

"…Crawford?"

"It would have happened eventually," he said, indifferent. "Schwarz is gone, there was nothing to keep him here, keep him from pursuing his own interests."

There was something lurking underneath that statement, and I picked up on it right away.

_There is nothing to keep you from leaving and pursuing your own interests either_. That thought tasted bitter and I didn't like it one bit.

"There is another group—"

"There are always other groups," I said, leaning back in my chair with my mug of coffee perched on my knee. He grimaced when I propped my feet up on the table. It wasn't like either of us was eating or anything. I was just getting comfortable. "I hear Blau is doing quite well up in Alaska or wherever the hell they ended up."

"Russia."

"Close enough," I said before sipping more coffee. I knew the point Crawford was trying to make and didn't want to voice.

"Why are we talking about them, though?"

"Because they need a telepath and you are one of the best. Schwarz is over, I just thought—"

"Oh, I know what you just thought." I let him be confused for a minute while I lit a cigarette. "Remember before when I said it was ironic that someone who was so much like you left?"

"How could I forget when that happened five minutes ago?"

"Because you're out of it today, reminders don't hurt, you know," I said through my cigarette. I took a drag and held in between my first two fingers. "Well, you wanna know what would _really_ be ironic?"

Crawford gave me a look. He was humouring me now. "What?"

I got up from my seat and leaned over the kitchen table, staring into those hazel eyes before, on impulse, I kissed him.

_I'll let you figure that out yourself_, I said telepathically. _You're a smart boy, Crawford, you should be able to come to a conclusion easily_.

Just like the week before, I grabbed my jacket and left, making sure Crawford really sat there and thought about it by fooling his precognition into not being able to See me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Impulse**

**-Three-**

**Author's notes:** The conclusion. Schuldig's point of view is fun as hell to write. I'm not sure what that says about my mental state. Can't be anything good.

-x-

I was gone for a month. Stayed in a hotel on the other side of Munich, away from Crawford. Hoped he went crazy, but knowing him he probably didn't. Crawford could take care of himself. It was early morning and here I was, walking in the pre-dawn light, watching the leaves sprout on the trees. The first spring without Schwarz. It felt weird, mostly because I was apart of it since I was sixteen, chosen by Crawford himself.

Crawford.

I stomped out my cigarette before shoving my key in the lock and turning. I was expecting the place to be empty, cleaned out, Crawford gone with no trace of him anywhere. But when I stepped in, everything looked as it did when I'd left, minus the dishes in the sink. Crawford was a neatfreak. I dropped my keys on the table by the door and pushed the door closed. Well, I slammed it, as a not-so-subtle hint that I was back.

"Schuldig."

He shoved me against the door—I never expected something so—so _impulsive_ from someone who planned every last meticulous detail of his day.

"What the he—"

Well whaddya know, Crawford _could_ be spontaneous, though I suspected he had planned this still. Anal-retentive bastard. I never expected him to throw me against a wall, let alone shove his tongue down my throat.

_What the hell, Crawford?_ I asked telepathically. Guess he forgot I could still talk even when my mouth was busy.

"I knew," he said, when he pulled away.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Knew what?"

"Knew you were going to come back."

"Oh? And how did you come to this conclusion, mein furchtloser Führer?" He hated it when I called him 'fearless leader'. That's why I did it.

"Because it was as you said," he answered. "It's ironic. Nagi was, as you always said, the 'good one'—"

"Actually, I always called him a miniature version of you, but go on."

He fisted my hair in his hand and traced my jawline with his mouth.

"I never expected him to leave so quickly, if at all. And yet the one who I thought would—and did three times already—came back."

I smirked. "Sometimes things don't always turn out the way you'd think."

He pressed me against the wall more, his hips against mine. He pressed into me enough that I let an unchecked moan out. Damn you, Crawford.

"Life is funny like that," he said, his control slowly slipping as he gripped my wrist with his other hand. Somehow my one hand was in his hair and the other was pulling at his tie; his knee moved so that it was right between my thighs.

"Tell me something, Schuldig," he whispered, lips to my ear now as he pressed against me. God was he turning me on.

"What?" _Please tell me you want me to fuck you._

"Tell me you won't leave me."

I didn't know what to say. On the outside, aside from the bedroom eyes, Crawford looked as he always did—calm and in control. Stoic. Business-like. Even his tone reflected that. It sounded like an order: _Tell me you won't leave me_.

"Don't tell me you're becoming soft," I said jokingly, though even that was half-hearted.

"On the contrary," he said. I could tell what he meant. "Just…tell me you won't leave me."

I said nothing. All he did was stare, and that was when I picked up on a stray thought of his.

_Don't leave me._

"Where would I go, anyway?" I asked. "I've been trying to find the answer all my life—where do I belong?" I chuckled. It was amusing to me, being so serious.

"That's why you left all those times." Ooh, the lightbulb in Crawford's head clicked on with the realization of what it all meant, the pieces finally coming together.

"It's also the reason I came back."

He kissed me again, harder than the last.

"Say it," he commanded, and there was the Crawford I'd known for all those years.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I want you to say it."

He seemed taken aback by my request.

"Your place is here," he said, "and if you ever leave, so help me _God_, Schuldig, I will hunt you down and kill you so you won't come back and do it again."

"All right," I said, "but if you do that I have every right to haunt you until you're dead yourself."

I shoved myself up against him and reversed our positions before he could properly react.

"Your precognition's too slow," I said. "Or has Oracle gotten too old?"

He yanked on my hair and bit my collar bone hard.

"If you weren't so impulsive it would work a little better against you."

"But that's what you like best about me."

"No," he said, words muffled against my neck, "I like the fact that you can kill someone with a gun from more than thirty paces away without a loss of accuracy. Your spontaneity is a thorn in my side."

"That's because you don't have any, Mr. I Plan Every Moment of My Life."

He slammed me against the wall, and I responded by throwing him on the floor.

"I win," I said with a grin, grinding against his groin. He placed his hands on my hips and didn't try to stop me.

"For now."

"No, no 'for nows'. Admit defeat against me and I'll go easy on you."

He gave me something that was between a smirk and a smile. "Never." He yanked on the collar of my shirt and kissed me again, this one as unforgiving as the man himself.


End file.
